


So One Last Time, Love, Come And Rip My Clothes Off

by Rage_ball_of_fluff



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Bad Flirting, Bodyguard Geralt, Lots of it, M/M, Mercenary Geralt, Mutual Pining, Prince Jaskier | Dandelion, Unresolved Sexual Tension, the bodyguard au no one asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-23 01:35:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23003644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rage_ball_of_fluff/pseuds/Rage_ball_of_fluff
Summary: Geralt just wanted an easy job and some easy coin. He was getting old, had a daughter to consider, another life to live. Thwarting assasination attempts on a spoiled prince seemed like the right mission to take. Yet, soon he realized the prince was not only boisterous, flamboyent and a shameless flirt, no he was so much more. An actor, a liar, a second life hidden beneath all that glamour and skyblue eyes. This job might turn into more than he had bargained for.Jaskier had never imagined that a failed assasination attempt on his life would lead to him coming face to face with his childhood hero, the renowned White Wolf of Rivia. And oh, how he hoped to get even closer to his tempting bodyguard. His existence was already filled to the brim with duties, secrets and denied pleasures. .
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 70





	So One Last Time, Love, Come And Rip My Clothes Off

Geralt takes long strides down the dimly lit corridor, his steps muffled by the rich red carpet under his feet. A few paintings were decorating the long hallway, mostly long dead members of the royal family of Lettenhove. He didn`t know their names and didn`t care, he was here for the living. A heavy wooden door finally came into view . He didn`t bother to knock, his charge would have to get used to it. When the heavy wood swiftly swings inwards he gets a good eyeful of a young man smothered in a heavy dressing gown decked in golden brocade. An intricately worked goblet is on the way to his mouth as he stops in his movements. Cornflower blue eyes meet his and Geralt slowly raises one eyebrow at his new charge. The man in question swivels his glass, turning to him in with a little flourish. All his movements seemed showy, calculated to appear non-chalant.

An actor.

“Uh“ The young man intones. “Well, hello there. To what- to what do I owe the honor of- who, uh, who are you exactly?“

Probably a liar too, Geralt thinks.

“Not that I don`t appreciate-uh-“ The young man gives Geralt a once over, his eyes crawling ever so slowly over the mercenarys form. He can feel the look burning on his skin, it was unnerving.

“-the company of such a well equipped gentleman in my bedchamber.“ A chuckle, one hand is lifted to rest on his hip.

„But it is a bit early for an uncalled visitor, don`t you reckon?“ The prince tilts his head to the side, watching him out of blue eyes.

Geralt grunts adjusting his stance. It was hardly morning, the sun already on it`s rise to noon, but the princeling barely seemed bothered by it. The light was catching in his hazelnut brown hair giving it a soft glow. Everything about him seemed soft, from the layers of clothes he was smothered in, to his plump lips and his delicate skin. Perhaps only his eyes seemed to hint at something more, how they defiantly held contact with Geralts own. Not many people ever held eye contact with Geralt of Rivia for more than a few seconds. He smirks.

“I`m-“

“He`s your new escort, your Highness. Please excuse the rather brisk introduction. Geralt of Rivia, at your service.“

The royal advisor Mousesack puts a heavy hand on one of Geralts shoulders. He gives him a look, slightly out of breath from catching up with the mercenary. Geralt`s manners were never the best, so he just shruggs, rolling his eyes. What did they really expect from hiring a mercenary. His place was on battlefields, not in courts.

A little gasp has the two man returning their eyes to the prince.

“The Geralt of Rivia? In my bedchambers?“

He puts a hand on his chest in surprise, taking a few long strides across the room. Suddenly, two blue eyes are crowding in Geralt`s vision, the smell of sweat masked by sweet-scented oils assaulting his nose. The prince lets out the bark of a laugh.

“Unbelievable, you`re famous, you know that?“ Geralt knew that. He rolled his eyes. Again. It might become a habit, he realized.

“I`ve got to hear all of the stories! The White Wolf of Rivia, good gods so many questions.“ Prince Julian was gushing and frankly, Geralt didn`t know what to say. Or do, really. He did not appreciate admirers very much. He opened his mouth, but was interrupted a second time by the rustling of sheets from the adjacentchamber. A sweet voice called out.

“Darling, won`t you come back to bed? The sheets are getting awfully cold.“

This time the prince opens his mouth, promptly closing it. He slowly taps one of his long fingers against his bottom lip before taking a swig of wine.

“Yeah“ He says, slowly nodding, scrunching his nose. “Forgot about that.“

Mousesack gives a long-suffering sigh. Geralt just grunted. He should have known it would be one of these missions.

-

Lettenhove wasn`t one of the typical places Geralts services would normally be in high demands. A small kingdom peacefully nestled on the eastern shores of the continent with a moderate climate and a sturdy people. They had made a small fortune through smart pacts and their many trading ports, living in relative peace. Geralt knew the general populace of Lettenhove was fond of good wine, good music and a good meal, people that never asked for much, but nontheless never lacked in anything. Easy to please and luxury loving. And so was their royalty. Geralt wasn`t very fond of them either. On the other hand he could not fault them for enjoying what they had when others had to fight for their next meal. So it did come as somwhat a suprise to the renowned mercenary that the royal family of Lettenhove specifically requested his aid. In squandering assasination attempts on the soon to be king, his royal highness prince Julian, no less. A bit of good old fashioned schmeming, that wasn`t new, but assasination attempts? Unheard of in the tiny kingdom so far.

So maybe Geralt was a bit intrigued by it. But the bigger part of him was just wanting for some fast coin. The years weren`t easy on him and while he had fought in enough battles to earn his reputation he longed for a job that wouldn`t put another scar on his skin. He was growing so tired. Tired of fighting the battles of lords that were to fat to swing a sword themselves. Tired of having to rescue abducted princesses with no sense of gratitude. Tired of escorting merchants and their worthless riches. Every spring brought him closer to his fities and every winter brought him closer to death. And he had his daughter to consider too.

Maybe he was ready for retirement, as he was asked to years ago. He could have had a wife, he could have had a family. He could have become a farmer in a quiet town with a trusty dog and a few chicken. But he had wanted death on the battlefield, to die by a blade and not of old age. Now that he had seen so many battles and was nearing old age, deep in his bones he longed for another life he had long given up on. But maybe, just maybe this could be his last job. The royals paid well and maybe they could use his services a little longer. Maybe he could spend the rest of his days here, tasting the salty sea air on his tongue and smelling the sweet honeysuckle overgrowing the gazebos. It was a fleeting thought he did not like to indulge in. But maybe the job wouldn`t be as bad and bring him enough coin to survive the next two years. How should he have known that destiny was waiting for him behind the castles walls.

-

Geralt had followed the prince after he had finally deemed the time right to put on some fucking clothes (and said goodbyes to his rather put-out bed companion). The younger man dressed like a troubadour, probably one of the fanciest minstrels Geralt had ever seen, in a colorful doublet with intricate gold stitching. Really, it came as no surprise to the mercenary. The princeling seemed loud, flamboyent, spoiled rotten. He struted in the full knowledge that the castle and everything in it belonged to him, head held high. Geralt had seen so many like him before. Had seen them fall.

„So nice of you to finally join me, my darling.“

Geralt casts his eyes away form the prince at the greeting. In a little dining hall a young woman is artistically seated at a nicely decorated table, one plate still left untouched. She has the same hazelnut brown hair as the prince, braided along her back, and his sense of clothing if maybe a little more modest. When they enter she looks up from the book perched in her lap.

„The sun has barely risen, my dearest Constanze. You do know me, mornings were never my prefered time of day. Also, you look stunning as always, dear.“

The women gives him an indulgent smile, tilting her head for a kiss on the cheek.

“Constanze, you`ve met my newest escort? He`s the Geralt of Rivia, can you believe that? Do not worry Geralt, I will do you the honors of introduction, you can just stand there and look silently intimidating. And oh isn`t that just lovely? Ohoho, I´ve heard so many songs about the famous White Wolf and then I finally meet him. In my bedchambers no less.“

The prince is gesturing in his general direction with a little flourish, giving him an honest and open smile. Geralt didn`t like being showcased like a priced hound. His earlier patrons liked to show him off at banquets, tournaments, hunts. A leashed dog. He also didn`t like that smile. So he grunts. With an exaggerated sigh the noble lets himself drop in front of his plate.

“Sadly he is not the most, uh, forthcoming conversation partner I`ve had. Aren`t you Geralt?“

A grunt.

“You see? All I´ve been getting out of him the whole, well would you look at the time, hour we`ve been acquainted are those boorish grunts. You could be my-my bodyguard? My bodyguard for a very long time Geralt dear, eventually you`ll have to talk. How else are we going to spend the rest of our days together?“

In blessed silence, Geralt quietly wished for. The younger mans voice was sometimes grating when he went on a tangent, and he always seemed to go off on a tangent. Geralt felt a headache coming on. Mousesack, who had accompanied them here after ushering the prince out of his chambers, gives him a little sympathetic smile.

“Or, well-“ The prince slowly lifted a piece of cheese from his plate, putting it against his lips, giving the mercenary a long once-over. “-I could think of a few ways to spend-“

„Please excuse my idiotic brother, he is a gentleman, supposedly.“

The young woman interrupts, giving the princes arm a little shove, resulting in Julian hitting himself square in the face with a piece of cheese. Geralt chuckled. He thought he saw a smile pass Mousesacks face too.

“He sometimes lacks the manners, for example when he neglects to introduce his lovely older sister.“ She continues. “Constanze Valentine de Letthenhove.“

The princess is holding her hand out for him, but Geralt just keeps staring at it. He is no nobleman and he will definitely not kiss a princesses hand, so he gives her a measured nod. She scrunches up her nose, funnily enough Geralt thinks, this had to be a family habit.

“I see, so my brother was right when he said you weren`t exactly forthcoming. Or well-mannered, for that matter. Or smelling.“ She scrunches her nose again and Geralt feels a little insulted by that.

“Well, it is nothing to me, you`re here to protect my darling baby brother from certain death. You do not have to look or smell like a field of poppies.“

Constanze cooes at Julian, patting his cheek. The other man just gives her a blank stare.

“But you see, White Wolf, you`re services are greatly appreciated. My parents and sisters-“

Geralt gives Mousesack a quick glance ‘sisters?’ he mouthes. Mousesack holds up four fingers with a little smirk. The mercenary feels his eyes widening. Oh gods.

“-were really worried about our little Dandelion when the news reached us. I don`t want any harm coming to our sweet darling.“ Geralt looks to Mousesack mouthing ‘Dandelion?’ , the advisor just shruggs a glint in his eyes.

The princess steals a piece of cheese form her brothers plate, giving him a little clap on the cheek with a patronizing smile.

Geralt loudly clears his throat. Two pairs of skyblue eyes turning to him.

“I just wondered, Ju-“ Geralt receives a pointed look from the advisor.

“Your Highness-“ he grunts between his teeth.

The younger man is quick to halt him with a dismissive hand gesture.

“Please, just call me Jaskier, all my friends call me that.“ He gulps down a swig from his goblet. “And I hope to call you a friend of mine, soon.“

The young man gives him a warm smile. Geralt raises an eyebrow, Buttercup? He was slightly confused with all the flowery names, but it strangely fit the young prince with sunshine in his eyes. And his smile. Gerakt shakes his head.

“Jaskier, how exactly did this first assasination incident happen?“

Jaskier quickly chews down a piece of bread, coughing a little.

“Well you see, Geralt it wasn`t actually all that interesting of a story. No suspense, no romance, no drama. Dull, really, not much to tell.“

An eyebrow is slowly crawling higher on the mercenaries forhead. Jaskier clears his throat under Geralts iron stare.

“So, uh, if my audience is really wanting for a story...“ he trails off, coughing.

“So-I, uh, woke up one night, when was it? Two, three weeks ago? I was alone in my bed that time mind you, sometimes I do like to get my beauty sleep. Anyways, I heard a scraping sound outside my window, so I went to look and there he was, some gangly guy in all black just hanging there under my windowsill.“

The prince huffs, throwing his hands up.

“The nerve really, I couldn`t even see his face. So I immediatly called for help but before I could even move a muscle he was already plunging towards me. I could see the white of my eyes in his dagger! It was so close, Geralt, so close.“

To emphasize this he leans ever closer to the older man, holding his index finger and thumb together.

“But thank Meliteles tits-“ His sister gives him a wide-eyed look. Jaskier clears his throat again.

“Thank, the uh, the godess for my clumsy nature, because just in that moment I stumbled from the schock, fell right on my pasty behind, if I might say so.“

He plunks back down on his chair.

“Must have kicked or shoved that bloody bastard somehow, because the next thing I hear is him going tumbling right down the castle walls into the darkness. Serves him right. Called over my personal guard right after, I was pretty shaken up, belive me my dear, my hands are still quivering a little just thinking about it. It was a somewhat horrendous experience“

To support this he holds out his arms for Geralt to see the slight tremor. Then takes a giant gulp from his goblet, supposedly to calm his poor nerves. Something about the whole situation gives Geralt pause. He was a mercenary, not stupid. Stupid mercenaries seldomly lived long. But he wouldn`t question it for now.

“Is there maybe anyone you could think of that wants you dead?“ Jaskier pauses at that, sharing a pregnant look over the rim of his glass with his sister. Interesting.

“Nay, my friend.“ He slowly drawls then. “Who would want to get rid of someone as fancied as myself. I have admirers far and white, I let you know, fans, lovers, would be lovers- ah yes, Geralt, dear why don`t you sit down and share a meal with us? I would be delighted.“

The mercenary purses his lips, he didn`t like the quick change in topic.

“No, I already ate.“ „Ah, such a shame really.“

Constanze taps her brothers shoulder in that moment.

“Actually dear, I just remembered. You do not have much time to dilly dally, father requested your attendence specificly.“ Jaskier gives her a questioning look. „It`s about the hunt tomorrow.“ And the prince let`s out a long groan.

“Dear gods, no.“ He scrapes a hand over his face. “Well Geralt you`re in luck, you`ll bear witness to me making an utter fool out of myself.“ Well, sooner than expected, Geralt thinks. Jaskier just takes another long sip from his wine.

-

Geralt realizes on the second that the prince was correct, the man had no talent for hunting. Nor riding. Or archery. Or lance wielding. It was a farce really, so after one or so hours of participation the prince retired to one of the tents especially build for the occasion. He was brooding, Geralt could tell as much, but didn`t feel inclined to say anything. In the end, aynthing he could say would defninetely not help in cheering the princeling up. On the contrary. So he bit his tongue.

Geralt was no fan of hunts. It was more an excuse for royalty to socialize and entertain and boast. So utterly boring and senseless to Geralt, he held himself back. Even when some of the kings retainers and knights wanted to have a word with the famous White Wolf, he declined as politely as possible. He was not here to share pity and shallow small talk with fighters that never had seen a real battle. The only person that caught his interest was the princes younger sister, a talented girl of 17 years. She was something fierce, her blue eyes so different from Jaskiers, hair cut short at the nape of her neck. The girl called Dominika had slain a beautiful eightender on her own, an artist with a bow from what Geralt could tell. She also called her brother a loser when he nearly fell from his horse. Geralt instantly liked her.

On the contrary he was no big admirer of the king. The man positively oozed royalty. He sat high on his white steed, a striking figure with his long brown hair and steel grey eyes. Geralt realized, the warmth they must have inherited from their mother.

“Your majesty.“ The mercenary gives a shallow bow when the kings horse halts in front of him. It is the first time they formally meet. Geralt had received his invitation from Mousesack, whom he had been acquainted with since his short stunt in Cintra. Ah, that brings back memories.

“White Wolf, an honor to have you join my hunt.“ Geralt grunts.

“I`m not here to hunt, your majesty.“ The kings huffs at that, a smile crinkling under his beard.

“No, you`re here to protect my idiotic son from his own foolery. I am wondering still which dishonered spouse finally made the decision to bring a knife to his throat.“

Jaskier sinks lower in his chair, his eyes dark and stormy as he takes a sip from his drink.

“Maybe-“ the king continues “-you can save him from falling on his own sword.“ And at that he turns, never even sparing his son a single glance, rejoining his hunting party.

“I take it, you`re not very close then.“ Jaskier laughs into his cup, self-depriciating and low.

“Too many disappointments, a single disappointment. You will see, soon enough.“ Geralt hums low at that.

The feast after the hunt is spend drinking, well mostly the prince is drinking. He is sat beside his father at the head of the giant table, but doesn`t speak much. An especially foul mood has taken hold of the younger man and Geralt can nearly smell it. And he sees now and hears, how the king talks about his oldest daughters bright head and his second oldest weapon skills and his third daughters big heart and his youngest bright smile. And he can see how every rambling of a proud father is another stab in the princes back. And Geralt didn`t like the boisterous, flamboyent, flirty Jaskier he had met this noon, but he dislikes this one even more.

“Would you excuse me.“ The prince calls late in the evening, a slur to his voice. “A man has got to catch his beauty sleep.“ And he stumbles out of his chair then, only caught by his sisters fast hand and soft eyes. His fathers eyebrows knit together, a nod the only affirmation.

Geralt follows him outside, a shadow in the darkenss.

Jaskier chuckles darkly in front of him, the mercenary hurrying to catch the prince as he tries to mount his horse.

„Pah, and he still wants me king anyways. Because traditions are to be followed and I`m the only male heir. Load of horseshit if you ask me.“ he laughs again, leaning heavily on his escort. Blue eyes come up to meet Geralts, they`re soft and drooping, the alcohol running its way.

“I do have my qualities, I let you know.“ Jaskier continues, a hand coming up to trace along Geralts jaw. The smile on his face is dopey, nearly giddy one might say and the mercenary`s nostrils flare at the sight.

“I know my way around a sword alright. Just not one made out of steel, if you catch my drift.“

Geralt promptly drops him on his ass.

The ride back to the castle is a long one.

-

It was the third day and Jaskier was bored. Bored to death, dare he even say. He was draped in this unbelievably uncomfortable chair, ready to slide to the cold and dirty stone floor if this council dragged on for longer than another minute. Nay, he was ready to hit his head against the massive wooden table they were seated on. Maybe that would bestow him with the sweet gift of unconciousness and relief him of this pounding headache.

Finances here, troups there, supplies that. He hated councils and his council was almost always useless, not in a small part furthered by his own lack of trying. The prince rolled his eyes skyward when Mousesack spoke up, this could take forever, pah. His dearest sister looked impeccable as always, naturally, not in the least bit bothered by the ongoings. Always chipping in with questions, with suggestions and good suggestions, one might add, sound ones. Not like the one time he wanted 1000 flowers for his birthday banquet. It was only half of a joke, really. Jaskier grunts, his head heavily supported by one of his hands. Why, oh why couldn`t they just make her queen and be done with it. He would make a bad king, horrendous really, by the gods. He would run this country into the dirt in about a month. Scratch that, a week is all it would take.

His other hand was twitching for something to do, to caress over strings, feel the cold bite of iron. Gods, he was so bored he wanted to groan. He refrained himself, he still had a smidge of self-preservation left, thank you very much.

At least his new escort was making for a fine distraction, how he was leaning against the wall beside him, brooding so delicously. If there was one good thing that whole assasination business had brought with it, it was Geralt of Rivia. The White Wolf, Jaskier could still not believe it. The hero from his favorite tales that the wet nurse would sing him before sleep. All those stories definitely didn`t do the man justice. And oh that jawline, that magnificent jawline. He never heard ballads about that. Jaskier was sure you could cut steel with it, but all he wanted to do was run his tongue over it. And get lost in these beautiful amber eyes, they were enchanting. Or get lost in those mountains of muscle, embraced by strong arms. He shuddered a little at the thought, now openly staring at the mercenary in his black leather armor. He wanted to write songs about the older man, songs different from the ones he heard before. There were so many about the mans fighting prowess, how he survived so many battles without a single scratch (not true as Jaskier had seen the scar over his eyebrow), how he had saved princesses (he could save me all day, he thought) or fought terrible monsters (all human, Jaskier was sure, the worst are). There were also a few songs about the mans prowess in bed, the ones he had heard of later in raunchy taverns in his time at the univeristy. The prince had always doubted their credibility, but now that he had laid eyes on the man himself there was no smitheren of doubt left in him. Ohoho, he could only imagine all the wicked things the mercenary could do to him. And those years of experience, by the gods, he bet the man would utterly destroy him.

There was a dangerous thought to be had in a room full of old man. He adjusted himself in his seat. But no, the ballads he wanted to write would be about that beautifully chiseled face, the haunting eyes and those lips that called out to you, oh he was so weak. Jaskier knew if he wasn`t careful he might be falling, it wasn`t hard really, he had just so much love to give. And it would be ever easier with Geralt, he pondered, for he had been in love with the man even before he had met him. With his stories, his legends, his songs. An exhausted sigh passed his lips.

Despite that he wondered, not for the first time, how old the other man supposedly really was. Yes, his hair was grey, almost white, yes crow feets were heavily hanging around his eyes, but still he didn`t look a day over fourty. The stories must have been older than that surly. Well, he had a thing for older men anyways. He was sure to enjoy their time together, but he had to survive it first. And he definitely needed to formulate a plan. Geralt didn`t seem the type to easily tumble into your sweets, only enticed with a few sweet words and filthy looks.

He nearly fell out of his chair when his father called on him then, dark eyes meeting his with a disappointed frown. Well, it was hardly the first time. A dark chuckle rang out besides him and oh, he would make a fool out of himself every single day if that meant hearing Geralt laugh like that.

Geralt blinks awake the morning of the fourth day, the soft sounds of a lute being plucked accompanied by quiet humming lure him from his sleep. The mercenary sits up with a start when he realizes the prince isn`t directly in his line of sight. An empty bed, thick blankets rumpled. The sun was still low on the horizon, soft pink light filtering into the room. He listens then, the soft singing, that lilting pitch – it`s Jaskier alright. Geralt curses himself for being lulled in by the relaxed atmosphere these past few days. Nothing had happened so far at the court of Lettenhove. Nothing exciting at least, if you didn`t count the prince being nearly maimed by the kitchen staff for stealing a pie the day before. No, it was mostly standing guard before toilets and baths, watching the prince play cards with his usual staff, bickering with his sisters and flirting with the servant girls. All plain and normal and boring. So he had grown leniant. Leniant enough to not hear the prince traipsing around his chambers at the crack of dawn, which seemed strange to Geralt. Jaskier wasn`t known to rise before lunch was served, when his sisters were to be trusted, and it was even rarer for the prince to be quiet about something. He heaves himself from his meager cot. A fine escort he was.

“What are you doing?“ It comes out more aggressive than he might have intended and the princes eyes find his with a little startle.

“And good morning to you too, dear. I presume you slept well?“ Jaskier absentmindedly strums a few chords on the instrument, his gaze not leaving Geralts. The mercenary sees blue eyes quickly flickering over his shirtless form, before they snap back to the lute. He shakes his head a little.

A grunt.

“I`m not a good bodyguard if I´m not aware of my charge traipsing about.“ Geralt says, going in search for his shirt. A low chuckle is following him.

“You barely slept these last few days, always fatefully keeping watch over my sleeping form. It is kind of a dream come true to be honest.“ Jaskier voice trails into soft singing then, the strumming continuing. It does sound quite...nice, Geralt had to admit. The prince had a soothing voice, at least when he tried to. The way his tongue wraps around the vowels made something churn in Geralts stomach, but he wasn`t ready to admit that to himself.

“You`re steps could wake the dead.“ He earns a glare for that while struggling to put on his black tunic, but Jaskiers face goes back to his relaxed state. A soft smile is playing on his lips, his features framed by the warm morning sun. The prince is glowing, Geralt thinks, delicate and golden.

“I didn`t know you played the lute.“ He leans against the wall adjastent to the settee the younger man was seated on.

“Oh, you mean that old thing? Not worth a mention.“ His smile is something sad, never reaching his eyes trained on the instrument. He softly caresses the wooden lute, long fingers stroking over fine ornaments. It`s an intimate scene, the feeling of intruding on something private heavy on Geralts mind. The princes touch is that of a lover in the early hours of dawn.

The moment is broken when Jaskier hastily gets up, carefully setting the instrument aside. He stretches in his soft linen trousers and chemise, his spine popping.

“Geralt, it has been a lovely week so far, but I must admit I am quite lacking in action. Fancy a little romp on the training grounds, what say you?“ He throws a wink at Geralt on his way out of the door. The older man slowly raises an eyebrow. How interesting. He had seen many facets of the prince so far, but maybe he had done the young man injustice in judging him so early. He pushes himself from the wall to follow.

-

They find themselves on an empty training ground inside the castle walls about ten minutes later. Geralt has in the last few days never seen the prince walking around outside his chambers so modest. With a simple chemise and soft linen trousers he perfectly mirrored Geralts own black attire. The mercenary quite preferred this version.

“Oh, quit your staring my friend. I do not only own flamboyent attire, mind you.“ A simple iron sword is thrown his way. It was blunt, he realized, running a thumb along the egde.

“We don`t want any unnecessary injuries, now do we?“ The prince casually shouts in his direction, picking out a dagger for himself, a bit longer than what was common so far in the south. Geralt raised an eyebrow. Not very princely, he thought. But oh, so much more interesting. Maybe he didn`t hear the king right when he wanted Jaskier to be careful around swords.

“You can kill someone even with a blunt weapon.“ Jaskier laughs at that, a high and airy sound. Geralt didn`t like it.

“Spoken like a true mercenary. But you could kill a man with your bare hands, couldn`t you Geralt?“ The prince is moving in slow circles closer to him now, twirling the knife in his hand. Geralt gives him a grunt and the dagger is swiftly moved in a backhanded position between long fingers. The mercenary knows this stance, it looks trained, perfected. Oh, even more interesting. Geralt definitely didn`t hear the king right.

“Could you?“ Geralt counters, taking a slow breath in, moving into a an answering fighting stance.

The prince cocks an eyebrow at him, his smile growing bigger. And then he charges.

Geralt has barely enough time to evade the thrust at his head. And the next. And the one following this. He can block the fourth thrust, the dagger glancing of his sword with a metallic shriek. On the next swipe Geralt locks them into a stalemate, barely, his eyes wide. Jaskier is smirking at him, there`s a strange glint in cornflower blue. It is bordering on mania.

“Who taught you to fight like this?“ Geralt grunts. He can see the younger mans arm shaking under the strain.

Then the mercenary turns, using momentum, trying to swipe the blade out of the princes hand. He`s blocked. Another step, another swipe. There`s reach to his weapon. But the prince is nimble, ducking, weaving, dancing away from his sword. He`s fast, turning and thrusting out his dagger in swift movements. So fluid. So charming, Geralt thinks when he meets blue eyes. This is not the fighting style of courts and knights. This is something wilder and more refined at the same time. He has seen assasins fight like this.

Geralt ducks under a long swing. Blocking the next, he grabs Jaskiers arm, pushing the slighter man against one of the pillars at the edge of the ring, his own dagger at his throat. They`re close, impossibly close, inhaling each others breaths. The smell of sweat hangs heavy in the air, under it lies the sweet scent of wildflowers that always seems to accompany Jaskier. The princes eyes meet his, the black of his pupils nearly swallowing all of that sky blue. Geralt can positively taste the tension on his tongue.

“Maybe I tell you if you can beat me, darling.“ Jaskier smirks at him, licking his bottom lip. Geralt eyes flicker down to it, a short slip of attention.

A second dagger is cutting in his field of vision. Geralt instinctly swerves back just in time. The tip graces his cheek and he suspects this weapon might not be as blunt as the others. Thrill is crawling up his spine, like a lonely finger being run down his back. Long fingers, like the caress of a lover.

He answers the princes smirk with one of his one, putting more of his weight in his next swing.

They move together like this, ducking, blocking, thrusting. It is like a dance, the metallic clinging of their weapons their tune, experience their choreography. Evading two daggers at once isn`t an easy feat, even if one is shorter than the other. But Geralt had fights similar to this. He`s only slipping once when the princes knife glances his thigh, blood wellling up under his black trousers.

Jaskier gives him a look, eyes wide, like he`s suprised himself. “Whoops.“ He says, drawling in falsetto.

“You`re fast“ Jaskier twirls his daggers then, taking deep gulps of air “for your age.“

Geralt snarls at that, baring his teeth and the prince stumbles for a moment, eyes wide. The mercenary takes two fast steps towards him, pushing all of his weight in his next swings. He is relentless after the first two get blocked, but he can see the prince straining, his eyes widening impossibly further. Another punched out swipe has Jaskier on his knees. And isn`t that an image Geralt could get used to.

“You`re not bad.“ He spits out between his teeth, pushing the princes block further down against a weakening grip. “For your age.“ Geralt drawls, their faces close. Swiftly he drops to his knees, knocking the daggers free of Jaskiers nimble hands, pushing the prince to lie on the dusty ground beneath him. A sword at his throat.

Jaskiers breast is moving quickly with the violent gulps of air he is taking in. He swallows against the blade at his throat. His eyes never leave the mercenary`s above him, his tongue absently wetting his lips. Geralt can feel the strain in the younger man to not move a muscle, as if the blade isn`t blunt, but the danger of the situation very real. The mercenary swallows. This situation is dangerous. He is half-hard.

“I give.“ The prince croaks out, raising both hands and the tension is broken. Geralt grunts, rolling off the the younger man. He sits down in the dust, kicking away his sword.

“Good gods, Geralt you have no idea, how happy you just made me. It was a dream of mine to fight against the White Wolf since I was just a wee lad.“ Jaskier laughs at that, free and giddy like a boy. His white chemise is plastered to his skin with sweat, his hair ruffled and Geralt has to avert his eyes from the open joy in the princes face. He looks like he did back in his rooms, delicate and warm surrounded by a golden glow. Underneath that, Geralt now knows, might be iron.

They take a moment to catch their breaths, just lying there besides each other.

“Will you tell me now?“ Jaskier makes a little questioning hmm sound, cushioning his head with his hands. He seems to get comfortable on the sandy ground.

“Who taught you to fight like a common thief?“ The younger man makes an affronted noise at that.

“Do you want to elaborate on that?“ He sits up, giving Geralt a look. The mercenary only lifts an eyebrow. “Never mind then. Maybe I tell you one day.“ Jaskier lies back down.

“But you may ask me another question and I will answer faithfully, promise.“

Geralt contemplates that for a moment. He could ask about the lute, but that seemed a little too raw, a little too private still. He could ask why his father didn`t know but that didn`t sound better. It would stay their little secret, and if that didn`t conjure an entirely different image in Geralts mind.

“Why Jaskier?“ he decides on.

The man in question laughs at that.

“Oho, great choice my friend. You see, the story involves a very naked lady, a very naked me, her very angry husband and about five hundred buttercups.“ Geralt rolls his eyes.

“Never mind then.“ he grumbles.

Jaskier tells the story anyways. In great many details.

So the prince, Geralt realizes, was not only boisterous, flamboyent, easily offended,coy and smart (when no one was looking). No, he was also dangerous and that made him oh so interesting.

-

The fifth afternoon they spend together Jaskier finds himself sitting in a pile of hay just outside the stables. The children of the castle are sitting around him, round faces and big eyes following his every movement as he shows the little ones how to make a wreath out of daisies. Spring was colder this year, still the little flowers were fighting their way out of the ground and Jaskier adored them. Jaskier adored many flowers, their names, their smells, their stories.

The day had been spend idling around, exchanging gossip, doing embroidery with his sisters (and to hell with whatever his father said) and now the sun was slowly on it`s descent down the horizon, his favorite time of day.

The small ones were so bad at wringing together flowers yet, with their clumsy little fingers, but the prince loved teaching them. Setting his finished crowns on their too big heads, it always reminded him of the time with his youngest sisters and how he had enjoyed teaching them the small things in life. And he loved to proudly carry their failed attempts like a crown, his head held high. The only crown he ever wanted.

He was actually here because Geralt longed to visit his trusty old steed, see if the stableboys treated the old girl right - old girl thats what he had called her. It seemed as if the mercenary couldn`t go a day wihtout seeing his mare. So when the children were called in for supper, Jaskier gave them one last pet on their soft heads before he went inside in search for the older man. He stopped just around the corner as he heard soft murmurs in that deep husky voice. It makes his bones sing with a want he didn`t know before. Jaskier stops to listen, to watch as the older man softly whispers sweet nothings to his beloved horse. Roach, he recalled Geralt telling him her name. What a mind-bogglingly stupid name for a horse, but by the gods he adored it. The older man was feeding her an apple, surely nicked from the castle kitchens, while softly combing through her lovely brown mane with large hands. Jaskier didn`t know those deadly hands could be this gentle, he wished to feel them against his skin with all those callouses and scars. He wanted that soft voice directed at him, whispering sweet nothings in his ear for only him to hear. The songs never talked about this side of the mercenary. This soft and gentle side, being careful with his horse, smiling at the children, complementing Constanze on her skill with the needle. And, Jaskier thought, this might be the most appealing side of them all. His thoughts were taking a turn for the worst again. He tried to concentrate on what Geralt was saying instead in the otherwise empty stables, other horses neighing quietly.

“And you know-“ the mercenary continued, “I wondered if he would ever shut up. But even at night he is not quiet, snoring so loudly I can`t catch an hour of sleep.“

Jaskier makes ahigh agry noise then, putting his hands at his hip. A smirk appeared on the older mans face and if that sight didn`t nearly take Jaskier breath away. Geralt was really a beautiful man, the light of the dying sun filtering through the small windows catching in that silver hair, painting the tresses golden.

But he was still sulky.

“You-“ He waved a finger at the other man. “-you oaf! Others would be delighted to listen to my beautiful voice. Even my snores.“ Geralt snorted, rather undignified one might add.

“Yes, well, maybe those people are deaf.“ Jaskier gave him a scathing look, not the best comeback to Geralts already weak retort, but what was it to him. The older man huffed a laugh, eyes still on his horse. Jaskier wanted to drop his trousers right there and then. The mercenary just had the goofiest sense of humor, Jaskier had realized these last few days. And the goofiest laugh. That, the songs didn`t talk about either and Jaskier delighted in it.

He slowly traipsed closer then, coming to reluctantly stand besides the older man, thank the gods for his magnificent impulse control.

“She`beautiful.“ He murmured, indicating Roach. “Can I touch her?“

Geralt made room for him, inclining his head in a go ahead gesture. “But careful, she doesn`t like strangers.“ Slowly, all so carefully Jaskier laid a hand on Roaches muzzle, having the mare sniffing his scent. A moment later she started nuzzling his head and then his hair and he realized he forgot all about his crown of daisies. He giggled when he felt her huffing against his hair, softly pulling the flowers free between her teeth and in her mouth.

“Whose a good girl?“ Jaskier asked, rubbing her muzzle. Roach just huffed and he laughed again. Gods he must sound like a 12 year old lad, his voice not broken yet. When he turned he startled to find Geralts eyes already on him. The mercenarys lips were almost pulled up at the corners into a smile, but it wasn`t one just yet. A soft half-smile Jaskier would call it, a warm glow to amber eyes the color of the sunset. His favorite time of day. And it did things to the princes stomach, terrible things. He quickly turned back to the mare, Geralts fingers stroking her mane besides him. The older man cleared his throat.

“I thought, uh, you didn`t like horses.“

Jaskier fiddled a little with Roaches mane.

“Well, I do not have a particular opinion on them. I just do not like riding.“ He paused, shrugging his shoulders. Then he gave Geralt a look, a wicked smile dancing on his lips.

“You know, the kind that involves horses.“ And he wiggles his eyebrows a little.

He doesn`t see Geralts face when he gets pushed in a pile of hay with a little oof.

-

The evening of the sixth day included a banquet. A fucking banquet of all things. Geralt hated them, hated the atmosphere, the shrill music and shriller gossiping. The smell of parfum that clung cloyingly to everyone was enough to make his stomach turn. As was the hand of the lady that was burning on his bicep. She was batting her eyelashes at him, all demure, but he could see the way she was trying to stick her chest into his face. Even if he wasn`t on a job, nobles were seldom his type. They wanted the rougher sex his name promised, then kicked him out the day after, complaining about the bruises and marks he had left behind. Too soft. Geralt grunted.

His eyes were still following the prince as they had been the whole evening. He was chatting with musicians and ladies alike, way into his tenth goblet of wine and laughing like the idiot he impersonated. Jaskier glowed, Geralt realized, not literally, but he drew eyes from all over the room in his golden doublet. Possibly the most flamboyent outift Geralt had seen so far. He looked a little like magic, if magic existed in this world. Open and wild and so so full of light bursting at the seems.

He wondered if the prince would like it rough, his eyes following nimble movements. He wondered how he would look like with marks and bruises all over that soft skin. Not soft, he remembered. Blue eyes as hard as the steal they were wielding, he remembered. Geralt snarled a little at the thought. It was dangerous.

“Move.“ An indifferent voice sounded besides him. Princess Dominika was using one hand to shoo off the noblewoman still hanging from Geralts arm. She leaned against the wall next to him, a tankard full of ale in her other hand as the lady left with an affronted look. The dress she wore was simple, grey, cut high on her thighs and he realized she was wearing trousers beneath. He smirked.

“Peacocks, the lot of them. How I love to ruffle their feathers.“ she took a large gulp.

“You remind me of someone“ And flashes of a queen come to his mind, a women he had worked for a long time ago.

“Really now, must have been quite the lady.“ He chuckles at that.

“My older brother, though, wouldn`t have the makings of a lady. Too soft. He`s a peacock alright, so wolf, take care not to be enticed by those colorful feathers.“ She looks at him then, the same blue and yet so different. Her lips quirk.

“And take care no one ruffles his feathers, only we are allowed to do so.“ And blue eyes turn back to the banquet.

“His feathers are easily ruffled, I already learned.“

Dominika laughs into her pitcher, the sound is high and airy, just like her brothers. Ah, he thinks, so they have something in common besides the steal in their eyes.

“But maybe I should also be careful, even a peacock can pick your eyes out.“

She looks at him over her tankard, an eyebrow cocked. She opens her mouth, closing it a moment later. Hesistent, Geralt wouldn`t have thought her the type.

“Enough of my idiotic brother.“ She concedes at last. “Tell me about the battle at the Yaruga. I heard it was a close affair.“

“A lady with an interest in battle strategy. Wouldn`t have thought to find one at this court.“

“I am no lady. Now stop boring me with idle talk and riddles, wolf.“

He smiles.

They spend what feels like a few hours over strategy talk, Geralt going over his most famed battles. He finds the girl to be a favorable companion for the evening, smart and not deluded by pretty ballads and stories. Both of them happen to be people of few words so theres often prolonged silences between them, nice in a way, only filled with them slowly sipping their ale. Geralt had the distinct feeling the princess was an outsider to this world of festivities, as was he. Probably the reason she had sought out his company. He felt a budding respect for the girl.

“And that`s the end of our night.“ she said, her eyes fixated on her brother slowly making his way over to them, a pretty blonde hanging of his arm. Geralt grunted, roling his eyes. The princess chuckled.

“It won`t be a nice one for you from here on out. Oh well, I wish you patience.“ She mock bows.

“I hope to see you again, wolf. It would be an honor to hunt with you one day.“

“I`m not one for the hunt.“

“A pity.“ She drawls. “You would have made a good hunter.“ And then she is gone, Jaskier taking her place. Theres color high in his cheeks, his doublet undone at the top and his mouth was already stained red from different lips.

“Geralt, my friend.“ He calls, and his voice is lose and deep and does things to Geralts stomach.

“This here-“ He motions to the blonde kissing up his neck. “-is the lady Theresa and you know, dear, I promised her a stay in our chambers. And wouldn`t that be just unjustifiable to break a promise made to a lady?“ Geralt shakes his head, a snarl on his lips. He tries not to look at those blue eyes and fails miserable when “Pretty please“ is pressed between kiss-swollen lips.

“Just. This. Once.“ He grunts and then Jaskier surges up, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Before he realises what happened the prince is forging ahead through the masses with his lover for the night in tow. Geralt curses himself, finding Dominikas eyes again through the crowd. A little head shake is all he receives in return.

Geralt is standing in front of the young princes door, arms crossed over his chest, teeth crunching-stewing in misery. It has been an undeterminable amount of time since they had come back to his chambers and the soft sounds of lovemaking were still wafting from the other side. Geralt thanked the gods that he had reached an age where the wanton moans of a girl in the throes of passion didn`t get him aroused as easily anymore. He had his fair share of experiences and this was hardly the first time he was on such an escort mission. The prince wasn`t exactly to blame either, because gods, none of the two did know how long this mission would take and the young mans advances hopefully would let up for a little while after this. No, what really got Geralt was the sheer volume of their coupling. Yes, Geralt had loud bedmates before, but this was excessive. And it wasn`t the loud screams of the girl of “Yes right there, yes, harder, faster, oh gods“. No, that was all pretty standard. It was the prince himself that was slowly causing trouble for the mercenary, concerning his neither regions. Because he wasn`t just moaning, no, he was singing. And oh, it sounded so good, so sweet, so filthy to Geralts ears. He was singing the sweetest praises for his bedmate, smothering her with endearments. Calling out sweetheart, dear, darling, love. And his throat, Geralt could imagine, contorting around those sounds, those grunts, his mouth moving, his tongue caressing around the noises. Caressing around the word love. Opening in ecstacy when he finally finds his release. And Geralt is back at the training grounds, Jaskier pinned underneath him, blue eyes locked to his, chest heaving, panting.

Geralt has to close his eyes, bite his tongue against the image. Why wouldn`t it leave his head? Why why why was he painfully hard from imagining the prince underneath him making those sounds just for his ears to hear? Calling him love? No this was going to far. This was torture and he was too old for this bullshit.

The prince was an irredeemable tease, he had realized that from the first day on. He just never thought it would impact him so. Him, the famed White Wolf of Rivia, drooling over a spoiled prince like a dog over a slab of meat. It was maddening and Geralt realized, that he might be an insect caught in a spidersweb, the predator ever crawling closer with every day this mission lasted. He would lose to his instincts eventually. But the prince was young, so young. Too young. Geralt would break him when he took everything that he wanted, leaving Jaskier in a pile to collect the pieces after the job was done. It was always like this.

He realized with a start that the noises had finally ceased and he could only hear small whispers if he concentrated. Fucking thank Melitele, he swears. He has enough time to calm down now, meditating a little, feeling himself go soft again. A few minutes later theres footsteps behind the door, the rumple of fabrics, giggling and kissing. And so Geralt is only midly suprised when the door opens, revealing the lady, a little worse for wear, make-up smudged and dress still half opened at the neck.

And Jaskier, Jaskier is looking utterly debauched, hair and eyes wild.

He quickly kisses the lady good night, wishing to see her again soon and then their eyes meet. Geralt has to take a deep breath through his nose, seeing those pupils dilate. There`s dark bruises on his neck, smidges of heavy red lipstick all over his mouth, his doublet open to reveal a chest dusted with thick hair. He looks utterly fucked out and Geralt can`t take it. Nails bite into the skin of his palms to keep himself from doing something stupid. So very very stupid.

“What happened?“ He croaks, entering the princes chambers. “Didn`t you say she wanted to stay til morning?“

“Ah, pff, you know how it is-“ The prince waves one dismissive hand, chuckling a little awkwardky. “-husbands waiting at home, ha, the usual.“ He finishes lamely, turning and heading straight for the pitcher on his bedside table. Geralts shoulders sag at that. Sometimes the prince was really as stupid as he acted, an utter fool.

“I`m not really surprised anymore that there`s someone trying to kill you. A spurned lover? A father wanting revenge for his daughters defiled innocence? How often did that happen?“

Jaskier rubs his chin, his nose scrunched up, swiveling his cup slowly.

“Hm, I don`t quite recall, maybe one or two time? Maybe ten? But whose counting, right?“ He takes a big gulp of his drink. Then he sighs. “Gods, I wish it would be that simple though.“

And he sounds a little bit exhausted at that.

“What?“

“Nothing, dear, nothing, now hush and into bed with you. You had a very, uh, strenuous day with all that escorting and guarding and what not. Exhausting muscle work, I assume.“

And he pushes Geralt into their shared chamber with that and the mercenary lets him, because it is getting late and he won`t question the princes obvious sidestepping anymore today. But Geralt knows something isn`t right here and he will find out, rather sooner than later, lest the princes life might be endangered further. Entering the princes bedchamber he is immediatly hit with the heavy stench of sex and cum. Geralt will probably not find sleep easily tonight.

-

On the early morning of the seventh day, Jaskier thinks he indulges himself a little. He still feels the pleasent tingle from his nightly activities the day before, but there was a restlessness in his bones that had him awake at the first light of dawn. It happened occasionaly, opposed to what people thought, he often rose before midday. Especially now that his nightly activities had been limited by the danger his life was allegedly in. Really, he could defend himself, but he wouldn`t rub that under just anyones nose. Especially his father didn`t need to know that he was proficient in sword handling, of one or the other kind. Hah. Gods, he would have run him out of his kingdom by now. Also if they had known he wouldn´t have come into the pleasure of meeting the White Wolf of Rivia. And what a pleasure that was, he thought, as he watched the other man wash himself in the adjacent room. When he was slightly sitting up, head propped on one hand, he could just barely get a glimpse of the other man through the door frame. Geralt always got up before the prince, silently getting dressed and finishing his morning toilet. Jaskier had seen him wash himself before and it had been a special treat, a treat that had left the prince empty and aching for more. Geralt was only half-naked yet, the way he preferred to sleep, Jaskier had learned, his chest bare and in soft black linen pants. Sadly they weren`t as tight as those beautiful, beautiful leather pants Geralt always wore under his armor. Jaskier might have send a silent thank you to the gods for that. And for that ass. And for that first assasination attempt also, only a little guiltily. Also, he might have had those tight pants in mind yesterday when he was pleasuring his bed companion. But the lady won`t ever know, so no harms done.

Pale planes of flesh are moving, drawing the princes eyes again. He could see Geralts muscles working under his skin as the mercenary slowly rubbed the washcloth over his biceps. Oh, how he wished to be a washcloth right now. If he really squinted he could see glistening droplets of water run over scarred skin. Jaskier could imagine running his hands down that wide expanse of skin, feeling the little bumps and ridges under his fingertips. Under his tongue. The washcloth was passed over a thick neck, long hair twisted over a shoulder. And he could imagine gripping that neck, leaving more marks upon it, lonely strands of hair caressing his skin as the mercenary moved above him. He could see it again, the day at the training ring, the older man sitting over him, having him literally pinned. A sword at his throat and he had never felt so painfully aroused in his life before. He could feel heat pooling in the pit of his stomach now as Geralts hands went to his trousers and he must have made a noise, a too loud exhale on a too heavy tongue because suddenly theres amber eyes on him. And he feels like burning.

“How long have you been awake?“ Geralts voice is still husky from sleep and oh, that doesn`t help the prince at all.

He just twirls his fingers in a little wave, going for a sleepy smile, the casual look. He didn`t trust his voice yet.

The mans eyes look a little haunted as he walks to the door, his chest still wet, strands of hair sticking to that pale skin. The door is thrown closed with probably more force than necessary, the wood trembling on his hinges.

Jaskier lets his head hit the pillow with a heavy grunt. He`s painfully hard, the picture of a furious Geralt with wild eyes and glistening chest turning in his head. His hands itch to touch so badly, but he doubts he would be quick about it. Or silent enough for the man next door. Sometimes he wonders if this whole bodyguard affair was really a blessing or more of a curse. His mind was already full enough of things that he could not have.

-

Geralt lies awake the night of the seventh day, eyes closed, head turned. He listens and waits. There`s the rumpling of blankets, the movement of bare feet tip-tapping on the cold stone floor. It`s soft, oh so soft, the footfalls of someone trained to be quiet. Geralt can feel the moon shining through the lids of his eyes. There`s a bit of shuffling now in the adjustant chamber, footfalls coming back. The sounds are getting closer, nearly passing.

“And where do you think you`re going?“

He can feel the startled jump next to his cot.

„Geralt, uh, warn a man, won`t you?“

The mercenary slowly sits up, facing the prince who has a hand laid over his heart. Geralt cocks an eyebrow at him, slowly tilting his head. Jaskier was clothed in one of his less flamboyent outfits, but the cornflower blue and burgundy combination would have made a lesser minstrel jealous. There`s a lute case slung over his shoulder.

“Well?“ The mercenary questions with another head tilt.

“Well-“ Jaskier starts while losening his stance. “`tis such a beautiful evening, I wanted to enjoy the fresh night air-“ Geralt just slowly raises one eyebrow at him.

“Oh, fine, yes yes I was trying to sneak out like a naughty lad. So naughty.“

“The lute the other day was a test. To see if I would sleep through it.“ A dismissive hand gesture is thrown his way, blue eyes rolled.

“Pah, that`s neither here nor there. Now quit you`re yapping and get dressed, I won`t miss my fun just because my life seems to be in deadly peril. On the upside it`s always nice to have some company.“

“What makes you think I will join you for whatever foolery you have planned?“

“Foolery? Hah, I beg you, I almost never do anything foolish. At least willingly. And if you won`t follow me willingly-“ He sits down on his bed, unpacking the instrument.

“I will do this-“ He meets Geralts eyes, puckering his lips in fake innocence. And then he starts strumming his lute wildy and just screams.

“Bloody hell, you`re going to wake the whole castle.“ Geralt stands, moving to grab the princes hand, but the young man just stops.

“- all night, Geralt. I can do this all night.“ He screws his eyes nearly shut, shaking his head at the mercenary.

“I could just tie you up and gag you, you know?“

“Now there`s an interesting thought. Let`s remember that for later.“ He gives Geralt a smug smile.

The mercenary huffs. “Fine“ He gets two small claps on the shoulder for that.

“I knew you would come around. Now chop chop, let`s be off.“

The prince navigates the castle halls like a labyrinth. They`re stalking in the shadows, unseen by every passing guard. It´s a routine in there, how he knows every step to take, every nook, every hidden passage. This isn`t the first time the prince is sneaking out of his chambers late at night. Geralt has to smile to himself a little. This job was maybe getting more and more interesting. Jaskier is certainly not the first noble he met who likes to sneak around outside long after their bedtimes, but hes the first he met who`s so adept at it.

Geralt had absolutely no idea where they were going, blindly following the prince around another corner when suddenly Jaskier halts with a little huff.

“Constanze, dear, how lovely to meet you here at this hour.“

The oldest princess is casualy leaning against a wall, dressed in a simple nightgown. Right, Geralt remembered this to be her wing. She tsks at them and the mercenary`s eyes swerve between the two royal siblings.

“Well, well, who have we got here. A little mouse sneaking it`s way out of the castle.“ She shakes her head.

“I knew you would come, you little fool.“

Constanze frames her brothers face with both of her hands, giving him a long look.

“Just promise me to be careful and be back by dawn, like always.“

“You know I`m always back by dawn, darling.“ And he gives her cheek a little kiss before he trails of into the dark hallways, adjusting the lutecase on his back.

The princess fixates Geralt with a stern gaze, he can glimpse a piece of royalty in her eyes then. An air of regality her brother is so clearly missing.

“Careful, Wolf. He doesn`t give up so easily.“

Geralt can`t help but nod at her, even though he doesn`t understand what she`s talking about. And then he follows the prince out into the fresh night air of early spring, trying to remember the hidden little tunnel that led them to freedom and into town. The thought why he even indulged Jaskier turning on his head. But deep down he already knew.

Even if the time was slowly nearing midnight the little tavern to the Chirping Lark was still in high demand. Boisterous laughter and drunk hubbub could be heard oustide the establishments doors, the smell of cheap ale and cheaper company drifting in Geralts nose even from a few meters away. They were in the seedier parts of town, run down houses and shady people on the streets. Despite that the princes steps had a vigour Geralt had never seen before, humming a little melody.

Geralt gave him a questioning look. Jaskier just happily shrugged with his shoulder and pushed the door to the tavern open with a heavy swing.

“Friends!“ he screamed over the commotion.

Heads swivel in their direction, a moment of silence. A heartbeat later they`re welcomed with happy shouts of “Jaskier“ and not a moment sooner Geralt finds the prince whisked away by a bunch of patrons. Most of them young woman, throwing flirty looks at the young man or brushing his arms. There`s a few sturdier fellows in there too, clapping the prince on his back and pushing him on one of the tables. Jaskier laughs in Geralts direction and its so open and honest, so full of sunshine and light Geralt has to look away for a moment.

“Geralt, my friend, find a seat, order an ale! It`s on me! And enjoy the show, naturally.“

The prince winks at him, jumping in one swift movement on an occupied table in the middle of the little hall, knocking over several drinks. No one really seems to mind though, and the innkeeper of the dingy little bar just shakes his head with an indulgent smile. This must be a regular occurance, Geralt thinks, when he hears screams of „We missed you!“ from around the room.

„And I missed you too, my lovely audience.“ Jaskier says with an exaggerated bow.

„Except you, you pig-headed son of a whore!“ he points to a ruff looking man at the bar, who just shakes his head waving him of. Everybody laughs at that, even the man himself, a regular joke Geralt is sure.

He finds himself a seat in the corner to brood, how Jaskier likes to put it. An ale is brough to him a few minutes later. The barmaid doesn`t dignify him with a look at first, she is preoccupied shouting at Jaskier on his improvised stage.

“What have you been up to, you scoundrel?“ And everyone laughs again when the prince gives her an offended look.

“Nothing you wouldn`t do, I`m sure dear Dorota.“ The prince counters with a wink.

It`s a rowdy tavern, the people in high spirits and full of ale. Geralt loves the atmosphere, prefers it to the stuffy banquets he`s been part in the last days, but he likes to stay in the background. The mercenary feels excitement brimming under his skin, he was wondering about the princes lute, about that second life that seemed to cling to him like all the perfums he daily uses. So he settles back to watch. To watch as the prince unpacks his lute under rambuncious cheers from the crowd. To see how he works his audience, asks them to choose a song. Geralt had seen him interact before with the people at court, has seen him talk himself into bedchambers and trouble, has seen him bring a smile to even Dominikas face, has seen him play with the children and chat up the servants. He knew people loved Jaskier. But he only now realized how much people truly loved Jaskier. It was a gift, to enter a room and have everyones eyes glued to you in an instant. A gift to have them hang onto your every word, to make them laugh with every uttered sentence. To make them move and sing and clap to a stupid raunchy song about a fishermans daughter. And now Geralt realized, as he watched the young man jump from table to table, his voice smoothly carrying from octave to octave, this was what he was born to do. He realized why he so longingly caressed his lute, why the glint in those sky blue eyes was missing when they sat at court. Jaskier loved music. And he had the gift to make everyone fall in love with it too. Maybe even Geralt, he realized with a shock, when the prince sat down on a chair, his voice sliding effortlessly into a deeper baritone as he started singing about lost love and a road remaining untraveled. Geralt knew he should keep watch of their surroundings, should be aware of every person in the room. But he was defenseless in front of nimble fingers gliding over strings and lips softly working over loving words. This was dangerous, too, he realized. He liked those lips, he realized.

It was getting later with every song, the hours dwindling into early morning, and Geralt was on his fourth ale. He had watched the prince take breaks between his sets, has watched him flit through the crowds, talking to the barmaid, the patrons, even the grumpy man at the bar. Has watched as Jaskier got drunker with every refrain, slurring the stanzas, but no one caring because most were off far worse. Has watched a pretty blonde put his earlob in her mouth and Jaskier chuckling. Geralt had rolled his eyes at that, chugging his drink. He has watched the prince work his own brand of magic, enchanting everyone in the small tavern until they were as drunk on his music, drunk on him, as they were drunk on the cheap ale. Three or so hours later he finds the prince in the chair opposite of him, eyes wide and pupils blown, his doublet opened to show his chesthair. Jaskier takes a swig of his ale.

“You here often?“

“Phew, i reckon so. Every week my friend, the crowd is marvelous and fantastic to work with. And they know me by now.“

“So that was your secret then.“ Geralt mumbles into his drink.

“What was that, dear?“ Geralt just grunts.

“Do they know that they`re crownprince is seranading them with raunchy songs about horny fishermans daughters?“ Jaskiers laughs, the high and airy laugh. The laugh Geralt doesn`t know how to handle.

“Ohoho, I sure do hope not. In this part of town most people haver never laid eyes on my face before or just did not care enough. Maybe there are some who do know though, I always suspected Priscilla to be up to something.“ He gestures to the blond girl again and she blows a little kiss at the the prince. A wink is thrown in her direction.

“So, how did you like my singing now?“

Geralt makes a little huffing noise at that. He lets his gaze travel as to not meet the princes eyes.

“It was fi-“

Something was off. The tavern was slowly emptying out, that must be why Geralt only now noticed the three man in different corners of the room. They weren`t chatting with anyone, slowly nursing a drink, but definitely not from around here. His intuition told him something was strange about them.

Jaskier hummed at him, following his eyes a little. Then he leaned over the table, hot breath ghosting over Geralts ear.

“So you noticed them too. I`ve never seen their likes around here and thats impossible, I know everyone.“ The prince leans back again, taking a sip from his drink.

“We should leave.“ Geralt presses between his teeth.

“Yeah, I don`t want to cause old Butterblum any trouble. He`s been good to me. Just wait a moment, dear.“

Jaskier stands up, moving to the center of the room and Geralt slowly migrates to the door, one hand on his sword, eyes trained on the three figures.

“You`ve been lovely as always.“ Jaskier calls, picking up his instrument.

“But I have to cut my visit short tonight, I´m most saddened by this. Be on the look-out for my next performance though, coming soon. Ta-ta.“

Boos and several shouts follow the prince to the door, hands of admirers grabing him, but he shakes most of them of with an easy smile. Geralt is slowly getting restless waiting, three pairs of eyes trained on his charge. He grabs Jaskier by the arm as soon as he`s in reach, wrenching him into the cold night air. There`s a tug on his arm when he`s turning in the direction of the castle though and the prince is shaking his head at him no.

“Not back, I don`t want to cause a commotion.“ And he leads Geralts into a dark alley away into the night. The princes grip is strong in his hand, no tremble, no tremor. Geralt can feel the calluses from weapon and lute training on his fingers while he concentrates on the sound of the tavern doors opening. His heartbeat is loud in the silence of the night. Sure enough, a few seconds later the sound of laughter and song is spilled in the night air followed by three pairs of footsteps.

Jaskiers pace is getting faster now and he keeps turning corner for corner in the empty side streets. The prince seemed to know every path into the beast of winding alleys old Lettenhove was, never faltering on his way onward. It is dark, no lights behind darkened windows, the bright moonlight guiding them. He can feel the princes pulse racing under his fingertips when footfalls start to take momentum behind them. They are closing in, Geralt could feel it.

„Faster.“ he whispers.

„Trust me.“ Jaskier answers.

And then he pushes Geralt into a tight alleyway not illuminated by moonlight, squeezing in besides him. His breaths are heavy and Geralt stares at him through the thick darkness. The mercenary`s fingers twitch at his sides, brushing the princes thighs. They`re so close again and Geralt is painfully reminded of their little training session these few days ago. He can nearly taste the ale on the princes tongue and has to pull himself together to not cup his hand over the younger mans mouth to stop that loud breathing. Or push his fingers against that clever tongue. He really does like that mouth. Fuck, Geralt thinks.

Footsteps are getting close now. Closer and closer, soft tip tap, outside the mouth of the alley. One, two, but the third one gets slower and slower. He meets Jaskiers eyes in the darkness. The prince nods and Gerakt thinks ‘Fuck’ again, silently snarling.

The mercenary can see the glint of the moon reflecting from a silver blade outside their hiding place and then he acts.

He pulls his sword, takes one step, two, a thrust, a scream and the first of the assasins falls. Geralt turns, just in time, before he is charged with a blade raised high. He ducks, swipes for the attacker, but his sword only meets empty air. Another swing. Where`s the third one, Geralt thinks. This is not good. Blocks, swipes, ducks. He is getting frustrated by the second, his attacker isn`t as good a fighter as he is, he knows, but he`s such a slippery little bastard. Jaskier is still hidden in the alley, Geralt hopes, still safe, but he doesn`t know where the third one is and finally with a quick thrust he hits the assasin square in the chest, cutting of his head in one long swoop and-

„Geralt!“ he turns and theres a knife at Jaskiers throat and he thinks to throw his sword, to run, to jump, but no no no nothings fast enough and then-

A muffled scream and the knife falls from the princes neck, leaving only a small red line in his wake. The third assasin crumbles to the floor, clutching his breast. A small bloody dagger appears between smart fingers. A twirl and a slash. Another throat is painted red now, blood bubbling forth with a wet gurgling sound.

Geralt just stares.

“Where-“ Jaskier feels up his throat. “-where do you always hide that?“ The mercenary grumbles at last. He has half a mind to clean his sword and sheath it again, still gaping at the prince. Geralt knew now that the prince was no stranger to combat. But that he could kill a man without even batting an eyelash. Adept at defending himself out in the real world. The truth of it leaves Geralt a little breathless.

Jaskier gives him a bright smile, kicking the body of the third assasin and stumbling a little clumsily over to the mercenary.

“That, uh, stays my little secret, sparing would become a lot duller for you if I just told you, not dear?“

Geralt huffs an unbelieving laugh at that. Then a thought hits him.

“The first assasin, the reason why I was hired. He didn`t just fall out of the window, did he?“

“Hmm.“ Jaskier scrunches his nose. “I might have helped just a teeny tiny bit.“


End file.
